Missing Pieces
by silvermoonspring
Summary: This is the story of the life I never knew I was part of... My life used to be so simple, and now they're more complecated than I can handle. My mind is a big puzzle, an incomplete puzzle, which is missing some pieces of it. And doesn't matter what, I'm going to find out why they're missing, and what they are... "Our past turns us to who we are."


**A/N: this is my first fanfic! I know the beginning might not sound so connected to harry potter, but trust me – it's more connected than you can imagine.**

**The character of Silia is based in many things about myself, so it was easier for me to write this way. I know the language and writing isn't professional, but that's the first story I'm writing! **

**So basically I'll explain a lot more about the plot when the next chapter will be posted, but for now the prologue will just help you to get to know the main character. **

**I would really appreciate if you guys could write to me some reviews and messages, it really helps me and I always reply back! Also you can ask me anything you want and I'll be more than glad to help and answer!**

* * *

><p>I'm not so sure how to start describing what happened to me. In fact, I'm not so sure what it is that happened to me, or why it did happen.<p>

Until now I used to be Silia Carter, the girl who was constantly harassed by others, the girl everyone kept distance from, the girl that was left by her mother to grow up with only one parent.

I don't really remember my mother, and I'm quite sure that it's for the best. If I would have remembered her, than I might have missed her by now or something like that, but ever since I was born, the only thing that she has done was arguing with my father nonstop, and after a year they got divorced and she just left. She has never tried to contact us in any sort of a way, and probably just ignored our existence.

In the beginning it hurt, it hurt a lot. All of the other girls used to laugh at me for not having a mother. But as the time past, I accepted this fact. My dad was the one who raised me, and for me he is the one and only parent. He was the person that I loved more than all, though he had those… well, he had those few problems. He has been going to a psychologist once a week ever since I remember myself. Until this very moment I don't know why he was going there, and he would never agree to talk to me about it, even if I was the one who started the conversation. Mainly speaking, he didn't like to talk so much, he was very… self-controlled, it's one way of describing it. He never talked about his feelings, and never mentioned anything from his past.

I once asked him, when I was younger, about my grandparents. I knew the meaning of the word 'grandparents', but I didn't know if I had some, because dad never talked about them. When I asked that question, an odd look crept into his eyes, but a moment later it was turned into a big comforting smile, "Your Grandfather's name was Andrew, and your grandmother's name was Victoria. They were very good people, but just like everyone else, in the end they had to go…"

He never mentioned them again. Even though I was quite young when I asked him that question, I knew that 'had to go' meant they were dead. The more I thought about it, the more I understood the way dad behaved; why he was so closed inside himself, and each time he was alone and didn't knew I was watching him, he looked really depressed. Of course that every time we played together he would smile and laugh with me, but it was simple to see he wasn't as happy as he tried to look like. It's obvious he have had a difficult past, both because of his parents and what happened with my mom… and I'm trying my best to help him and cheer him up every second I'm next to him.

I've mentioned dad's 'problems' earlier. I don't know so much about them, and I'm not so sure I ever will, considering the way he keeps everything as a secret to himself. Anyways, the thing I do know about his problems is that he has anxieties, and every once in a while he gets a panic attack. In most cases there's a trigger to it, usually work pressure or getting stressed after we argued about something important. I was 8 years old the first time I saw it happening. I didn't know what it meant at that time, I was just a scared little girl. One moment we were arguing, and the second after that he fell to the floor, unable to control his shaking body. He slowly moved his shaking hands and buried his head inside them while mumbling to himself words I wasn't able to understand clearly. I freaked out by this and didn't know how to act and what to do. I felt so helpless, and the only thing I did was keep asking him repeatedly what is happening to him and screaming 'dad!' while crying nonstop.

The panic attack was over in no more than two minutes, but this whole experience will always stay in my memory, the way it looked, and all those things I felt.

Later in that same day, dad's psychologist came to our house to talk to me and explained to me what was happening to my dad at those terrifying two minutes, but except from this and from keep telling me that I don't need to freak out from these situations and that it's not really dangerous, he didn't add any other information about dad's mental condition or circumstances.

Besides all that was happening at home, there was also school. I hate school. Don't get me wrong, I really like studying most subjects, and I also kind of like the school building - it's a dormitory school that focuses on biology and ecology (which just so happen to be my favorite subjects), the first and second floors are used as the classes, and the third and fourth floors are the students bedrooms. Anyways, the thing that made me hate school is the other students that go there. All those children who teased me after finding out my father is going to a psychologist; All those tall and pretty blonde-haired girls who laughed at my dark hair and the way I looked; And all those popular children, that just because someone said that they look better than others, decided they can be so arrogant (and annoying). I hated those people, and promised to myself to keep distance from those types.

Actually when I'm thinking about it, lately I hadn't only kept distance from those types of people – but from everyone else. In most cases, it played quite well for me. I stayed away from all those girls who kept laughing at me and at my colorless eyes (they weren't really colorless, but if you'll compare the bright blue and green eyes the rest of the girls have to my muddy-brown eyes, you could probably understand how that expiration came to life). In the past I used to have this good friend, Jennifer Milton, but two years ago she left our dormitory school and moved into a normal high school because she didn't like being apart from her family for so long. I actually quite like the dormitory idea – this way I am capable of being more independent and handle things by myself, and also I feel uncomfortable being too long with dad (and lately I've noticed that almost every time we have a really deep conversation, it leads to one of his attacks). The thing is, that I also started keeping a distance from dad. It's not that I wanted it – more than all I wanted to chat and play and have fun with him just like we did when I was younger – but we both have changed. He noticed that we're getting farther from each other and we both tried to get together like we did in the past, but like I said before, I started to keep distance, and also he became colder than he was before. In the past two years, each time I came home for holiday or vacation he would stare at me oddly, checking suspiciously every little step I take. I guess that's also one of the reasons I kept a little distance from him. I didn't understand why he was acting this way, and mainly – I didn't understand him.

So as a result from all those things, I ended up being alone recently. When I came home for the summer vacation, I would go to walks in the neighborhood by myself, and I wouldn't let anyone join me, not that there was anyone who wanted to join me. I liked that quiet time I got for myself, but unfortunately the summer was over and I had to go back to school.

The first week of school wasn't different than any other week I've ever had in school. It was boring and useless, like all of those that were before it, but I got used to this routine. I went back the weekend after that to spend it at home, and then return back to school.

Well, that's pretty much my life, the life I got used to living in. but suddenly, everything changed. And the weirdest thing about it is that I don't remember how. The last thing I remember is strong, harsh noise, a deep smell of heavy smoke, and a dazed picture of two blurry figures rising high above me, pointing at me something they held in their hands.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: hope you enjoyed, I'll try and post the next chapter as soon as possible!**


End file.
